


hold me, turn me, across the ice

by saturnblushes (writingforhugs)



Series: christmas AUs (MCU) [2]
Category: Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Dancing, Fake/Pretend Relationship, M/M, Suits, brock is steve's asshole ex boyfriend, corporate events, references to past abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-22
Updated: 2019-12-22
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:50:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21974596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writingforhugs/pseuds/saturnblushes
Summary: Steve needs a date to the company Christmas party. Nat already has someone in mind.
Relationships: Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Series: christmas AUs (MCU) [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1581799
Comments: 11
Kudos: 138





	hold me, turn me, across the ice

**Author's Note:**

> slight warning for mentions of past abuse, but there's nothing graphic. all mistakes mine, let me know if you find anything.

The information got to him because his friends weren’t _always_ assholes, and because it was Christmas, and also because Steve needed to know that kind of thing.

“He’s gonna be there,” Nat said evenly, but the tension around her mouth spoke volumes.

Steve peered at her over his computer screen. “What?”

“At the company Christmas party. _He_ ’s going to be there.”

Steve’s stomach bottomed out. “Why? How the hell is he invited?”

“He’s dating some chick in HR.”

Steve wanted to laugh at the irony, but the dread circling his head stopped the sound getting out. Instead he just reclined back in his seat and stared blankly at his computer screen, the artwork he’d been working on since this morning blurring.

“Steve?” Nat said, sounding like she’d been repeating herself.

“Okay,” Steve exhaled. “Uh, I can just show up for a little while. Um. I can show my face and then go.”

“Steve—” Nat grimaced. She reached over and held out her hand. Steve sat forward again and put his in hers. She squeezed tight. “You can’t leave early. You have that speech to give.”

Steve cursed under his breath. _Fuck_. He’d been actually looking forward to the annual Stark Industries Christmas party. In the three years he’d been working for the company, each party had been fun. Corporate in some ways but the people had been great, the food delicious, the entertainment excellent, and there was an open bar. It was a good night, a nice way to round out the year. Everyone got dressed up and even if you didn’t like some of your co-workers and even if you didn’t know everyone who worked in all of the different departments, it didn’t matter.

And then this year he’d been asked to give a speech about all the work the company had been doing to support the arts in NYC. It was a matter that was close to his heart and he was honoured to have been asked, spending months on his speech.

And now Nat had to bring him this news. She looked guilty for having to tell him, but she would never keep it from him. She hated Brock Rumlow almost as much as he did. All his friends did, but she had a special hatred in her heart that was directly funnelled towards the man.

“It’ll be alright,” she said, brows pulled together. “I’ll be there with Clint. You won’t have to speak to him or even see him if you don’t want to.”

She was right. He wasn’t going alone and they might not even be sat near Brock or anyone from HR. So it would suck, but it would be manageable.

“Still,” Steve said. “Just knowing he’ll be there…” he trailed off. Nat nodded.

“You can’t let him ruin your night.”

“He must’ve known I’d be there. Of course he did.”

The idea that Brock might have purposely agreed to go to the party with whichever poor soul he was allegedly dating just because he knew Steve would be there all well was like a punch to the gut. It’d been a year and a half since he’d last seen him and it had been only three or four months for him to stop expecting him to show up. Steve had changed his locks and his cell number and his friends had been there for him the entire time and now things had finally been looking up. He’d even talked about dating again, now that he’d had a chance to work on himself.

When he and Brock had broken up, he had been in a bad place. Their relationship had started out well, but Steve had been in love for the first time and hadn’t recognised all the red flags until Brock had worked his way under his skin. The constant texts when he was out with friends. The quick move to a joint bank account. The intimidation and thinly-veiled threats. Steve had dismissed it all, convinced he was making it up, overreacting, and not wanting to ruin what otherwise felt so good. Besides, he was six-foot one built _dude_. There was no way he could be a victim like this, or so he thought.

Nat had been the first to question the whole thing. He and Brock had argued and Steve had left to sleep and Nat and Clint’s for the night, and they’d sat out on the fire escape and she’d asked him why Steve liked Brock. He’d been surprised when he’d struggled to come up with anything convincing.

Brock had never been physically abusive, but he’d had a looming presence in everything he’d done, in every thought, a grey cloud. The black depths of his eyes still gave Steve the occasional nightmare. He’d been a heavy weight on Steve’s chest for the entire year of their relationship, constantly checking in on him, ordering him around, lying to him. It had been harsh words and fingers jabbed in chests, emotional manipulation. Gas lighting by a professional. When he’d gone to Natasha’s, it had been almost a month since he’d last spoken to her.

So when he arrived late one night at her door with a backpack and shaking hands, she’d been surprised but relieved.

The next day, he’d gone with Nat, Clint, Sam, Riley, and Sharon acting as backup to reclaim his stuff from the apartment. He took everything he’d bought. The coffee machine. The TV. Left Brock with the rest. He was in and out in an hour, and he’d never looked back.

Now he had a poky but cosy apartment of his own, was a senior member of his department, had vacationed in Ireland over the summer, and was generally having a good time with life.

“That fucking asshole,” he said. “God damn it.”

“I’m sorry,” Nat murmured.

“It’s not your fault,” he sighed. “Thanks for telling me. How’d you find out?”

“I was in the elevator and one of the women from HR was talking about it. Said she was bringing her new boyfriend along. Her friend asked if it was Brock.”

“I was looking forward to it as well,” Steve groaned. He felt a headache coming on.

“You can still have a good time. Steve—you’re giving a fucking speech at this thing, you’re the head of the department, he has _nothing_ on you. I won’t let him ruin your night. I’ll have him thrown out if necessary.”

Steve nodded. She was right. He owed Brock nothing, and refused to let him have any power over him anymore.

“I know,” he said quietly, because despite everything, the guy still triggered something insecure inside him, even as he consciously told himself that it was all false.

“I can try and stop him from coming,” Nat offered. Steve knew she would be able to.

“No, it’s fine,” he said instead. “Thanks, Nat, but it’s not worth it.”

She pulled a face like she didn’t agree, and then went back to her computer. Steve tried to focus on his work, but his attention was elsewhere for the remainder of the afternoon.

…

A few days later he was on lunch break with Nat, when he finally said what had been on his mind since the moment she’d broken the news to him.

“He’s going to see me and he’s going to think I’m not over him. If I go alone. Or that I can’t find anyone else. Or something.”

It felt shallow to say, all things considered, but Brock had told him repeatedly that he’d never have anyone else who would ever care about him, and of all the shitty things he’d said, that had been something Steve had struggled to shake. It had tapped into the insecurities he’d had as a teen, when he’d been skinny and sickly, and then into his early twenties, when people had taken advantage of his new-found looks. And he knew that he’d taken the past year for himself, but that didn’t mean he’d managed to vanish away those deep-down anxieties.

The fact was, he’d be going alone to this thing, which was compounded by his being a third wheel to Nat and Clint.

“So that’s what’s been distracting you?” Natasha said, giving him a look over the table they shared at a tiny café two blocks from the office building.

“No, no, I just—you’re right. I know you are. I’m not going to hide or leave early or anything. He’s not going to ruin my night. I won’t let him. It’s just…” he scrunched his eyes shut. “He’ll think I’m not over him, or something. I’ll be there and I’ll be alone and it’s gonna be a fucking disaster.”

“What about me and Clint?”

“I can’t have you two missing out on the fun just because my ex is there.”

Nat looked like she wanted to stab him with her chopsticks but also hug him tightly. “Steve, my god, you don’t have to worry about us two. It’s not an imposition to keep a look out for you because your psycho ex is going to be there.”

“But you shouldn’t have to like… protect me, or anything. I’m a grown man. I have most of my shit together. And I think he’d actually laugh if he figured out I was using you two as shields.” He grimaced. Admitting all this was making his face go hot with embarrassment. “I’m not trying to say I don’t appreciate you, Nat—”

“Jesus, Steve, that didn’t cross my mind.”

“I know—but—the invite encourages a plus one. I should bring someone. You think Sam would come?”

“Sam’s in DC.”

“Fuck.”

“Sharon might?”

“Unless she’s in Berlin.”

“Shit.”.

“There’s nothing wrong with wanting a date,” Steve said. He was trying to make himself feel less pathetic, less like he was trying to justify himself for something so stupid. “I mean. I’d like to bring someone along.”

“And it would make you feel better about Brock being there?”

He swallowed down his pride. “Yeah.”

“You really shouldn’t care what a grade-A dick thinks, Steve.”

“I don’t,” Steve said. “I don’t,” he repeated, because he didn’t, but there was still that stuff lurking deep inside him that still needed time to be dislodged and overcome. “I just—a date—or company would be good. I don’t want you and Clint to babysit me all night. And I want to look like—”

“Like you’ve completed the trifecta of looks, professional development, and a great personal life?” Nat said dryly, steepling her fingers into a triangle.

Steve cracked a smile at that. “I guess.”

Nat hummed. “Okay. Give me until Friday and I’ll think of someone.”

“You already have someone in mind, don’t you?”

She smiled, scooping up some noodles with ease. “I do.”

…

Friday afternoon, and half the office had gone home early, including Steve. Nat had called just after he’d emerged from the subway.

“I’m actually impressed with myself,” she said, and Steve could hear her grinning through the phone.

“Boy, because that never happens,” he said wryly. His hand was slowly turning to ice as he walked down the street in the bitter cold, and he focused on that and not on the nerves in his stomach. She hadn’t even told him who she’d picked, yet, and he was already worried about it.

“I had a few potential options but my final choice—excellent if I say so myself. He’s charming, a great conversationalist, and pretty damn cute.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “So it’s a ‘he’?”

“You wanted a chick?”

“I don’t mind,” Steve told her. “I just want to know who to expect.”

Nat hummed. “You’re gonna like him, Steve. I was talking to Clint earlier about it and he was surprised that we haven’t introduced the two of you yet.”

“And why haven’t you?” Steve asked.

“He’s been travelling a lot over the past few years. Never had the opportunity.”

Nat was his best friend, and his work colleague, but she had a pool of other friends and people she called ‘contacts’ who she sometimes spoke about or worked for but whom Steve knew very little about. They were mysterious, like her previous employers and, well, life history, seemed to be.

“He’s an old friend. Basically family,” she explained. Steve furrowed his brow.

“Is he some massive Russian dude?”

She laughed into his ear. “No. He’s a New Yorker. You’ll like him, Steve, and it’s about time you met.”

“Well, the gala is in two weeks, so…”

“I told him to meet you tomorrow at _Angie’s_ ,” she said.

“Tomorrow?” Steve’s eyes widened. “Jesus, okay. So he’s game for helping me out?”

“He said yeah, as long as you are.”

“Shit, Nat, I don’t know how you can just _procure_ people when you need a favour.”

“I’ll never tell, Steven. Alright, just let me know tomorrow how it goes. 10am, _Angie’_ s. I’ve given him your number.”

At around 8:30 that night, Steve was sprawled on his couch watching TV and messaging Sam about getting baseball tickets in the New Year, when a text from an unknown number popped up.

 **_Unknown:_ ** _Hey. Natalia gave me this number. This is Steve, right?_

Steve sat upright a little. Finally, he was in contact with the mysterious, yet-unnamed man Nat had somehow roped in to being Steve’s date to the company gala.

 **Steve _:_** _Hi. This is Steve. I’m sorry, Nat didn’t actually tell me your name._

A minute later:

 **_Unknown:_ ** _Of course she didn’t. I’m James. Just wanted to say hi and that you’re alright to meet tomorrow at Angie’s? Around 10?_

James. Steve would’ve looked him up on Facebook, but Nat didn’t have an account and Steve wasn’t about to ask him for his surname like a weirdo.

 **Steve:** _Nice to meet you, James. Nat has told me literally nothing about you._

 **Steve:** _and_ _Angie’s at 10 is good with me!_

Ten minutes passed before James answered again.

 **_James:_ ** _Nice to meet you too. She’s actually told me a bit about you. All good stuff of course. See you tomorrow._

And Steve didn’t know what to say in response, so he just left it at that, and went back to chatting with Sam.

…

The next morning, he woke early and went to the gym, going through his usual routine of a 4 mile run, an hour of strength training, and then walking back to his apartment. It was cold out, the sky a misty grey, the streets wet and shiny.

He jumped into the shower and made himself breakfast and then spent fifteen minutes picking out something to wear. He wanted to make a good impression to the dude who’d agreed to be his pity date. Eventually he settled on jeans, boots, and a warm sweater, which ended up covered by his coat. He scuffed his hand over his beard and nodded at himself in the mirror, and then he was grabbing his phone and keys and wallet and heading back out again.

 _Angie’s_ was a nearby 40’s-style diner that had great breakfast food. Steve had frequented it repeatedly on brunch dates with friends, or on late-night drunken rendezvous when he’d had a craving for pancakes. He was glad to be going somewhere familiar, and public, of course, but that didn’t stop the nerves.

He trusted Nat but he had no idea what to expect. She hadn’t even told him the guy was called James and now he was expected to meet him and hash out the details of the gala night, like it was something totally normal to be doing. Steve wondered if James was already expecting him to be pathetic, to the extent that he couldn’t find himself a date to a gala, or if he would prove it himself.

His phone buzzed. He pulled it out.

 **James:** _Just arrived, sitting in a booth at the end._

 **_Steve:_ ** _Five minutes away!_

He sped up a little, not wanting to keep him waiting, but slowed down on the last block so he didn’t arrive an out-of-breath mess. The diner appeared on the corner and he glanced in the window of a parked car to check his appearance, and then walked on in. The bell tinkled cheerfully at the door and he waved at Angie’s granddaughter who was pouring coffee, and then he looked right.

Six booths. The first empty, the second and third occupied by an older couple and a young woman with a small child, the fourth by a construction worker, and then the fifth occupied, again, this time by a man with dark hair. Steve cleared his throat and walked over. The sixth booth was empty, so this had to be him.

“James?” he asked, clearing his throat, and the man turned, looking up from the menu he was gazing at, and then stood.

For a moment Steve got a flash of anxiety. Dark hair, faintly tanned skin, strong-looking. It was like Brock, just for a second. But then he looked at James properly, and didn’t see black, depthless pools and a sharp, dangerous gleam, but pale blue irises, and laughter lines that didn’t look out of place despite his strong jaw.

“Steve?” James said. Steve nodded. James stuck out his hand. “Hi, great to meet you. I’m James, but everyone calls me Bucky.”

Steve shook. Bucky’s grip was firm but not obnoxious, and the back of his hand was covered in ink.

“Hi, thank you so much for doing this,” Steve said. “I know it’s… kind of last minute. And weird.”

Bucky laughed. The sound was low and rich. “I owe Natalia all kinds of favours. And this… this isn’t the weirdest thing I’ve done for her.”

Steve smiled. Immediately he liked the guy, because Steve knew all too well that Nat was a stickler for debts owed and paid. And that she hoarded favours like no one he’d ever met.

“That sounds like a story,” he said, sitting down when Bucky returned to his seat. He pulled off his coat and hat, running his hand through his hair. Bucky’s dark locks were pulled back into a low bun, a few strands escaping which he’d tucked behind his ears. He looked rugged and capable, just the kind of person Nat would be friends with.

Bucky lifted his eyebrows and nodded. “Not one I think she’d be happy with me sharing,” he said wryly, and Steve laughed too.

Angie’s granddaughter appeared. “Hey, Steve. Coffee?” she asked, and Steve nodded, and saw her eyeing Bucky as she poured.

“Thanks,” he told her, and she winked, walking away again.

“You know her?” Bucky asked.

“Uh, yeah. Been here a lot with friends. Clint won’t eat waffles anywhere else but here.”

“He’s picky about his junk food,” Bucky shrugged.

“Tell me about it,” Steve said, grabbing a menu. “How’d you know them two? I wasn’t exaggerating when I said Nat hadn’t mentioned you. Or at least not by name.”

“I’ve known Natalia for a long time,” Bucky explained. He rolled up the sleeves of his jacket and Steve stared at the tattoos covering his forearms. “We’ve worked together for years and Clint just happened to be there. I don’t mind him.”

There was a smirk Bucky couldn’t keep away that lifted the side of his mouth as he spoke, and Steve recognised it. Clint was the butt of a lot of the jokes in his friendship circle, so it was kind of nice to see that other people who were also friends with Barton also took the piss out of him.

“You gonna order anything?” Steve asked. He didn’t even need to read the menu to know what he wanted.

“Just some coffee,” Bucky said. Then he looked back at the menu. “Though pancakes do sound good.”

“They’re good,” Steve assured him, and then Angie’s granddaughter reappeared to take their orders. Steve got his usual, eggs, sourdough toast, and fried mushrooms and tomatoes.

“Gross,” Bucky said once he’d ordered pancakes.

“What?” Steve said, pulling a face.

“Mushrooms?”

“Don’t be a baby,” Steve grinned, and Bucky laughed.

They exchanged some more menial chat until their food arrived, and then dug in to their respective meals. Steve tried to take Bucky in without staring at him, absorbing the broadness of his shoulders and chest, the beautiful images on his forearms and hands, on the silver scar slashing across his forehead and up into his hairline. He was cute.

“Nat said you used to travel a lot,” Steve said, wanting to find out a little more about the man. He was already getting some good vibes from him, but that didn’t mean he didn’t want to know more about him. Besides, if he was meant to be a fake date to the gala, he should at least know some basics.

“Yeah,” Bucky said, setting down his cutlery. “For years, actually.”

“Work?”

“Pretty much.”

Steve nodded. Nat never clarified what she did before Stark Industries, and he had a feeling Bucky wasn’t going to on what was their first meeting.

“You stopped now?”

“For the time being. It’s nice to be home, you know? I’ve been in some… interesting places over the years but there’s nothing like this place. Good to see family more regularly. And friends. Hopefully I’ll be staying put a little bit longer.”

He smiled as he spoke. Steve smiled too. “What part of NYC are you from?” he asked.

“Brooklyn. Born and raised.”

Steve laughed. “Me too. Small world.”

“I bet we grew up like, a few blocks apart.”

“Walked past each other on the street a million times,” Steve hummed, taking a bite of his eggs.

“I think I’d remember you,” Bucky said, and Steve felt his ears going red. He cleared his throat.

“Thank you for doing this,” he spluttered after a moment. “I mean, you haven’t said yes to it yet but… thanks.”

“I’m not gonna back out on you,” Bucky said easily. “It’s a favour I owe Natalia and you seem like a chill guy. Plus, free dinner at a fancy corporate event. Win-win-win.”

Steve smiled at his plate.

…

They continued to chat while they ate. Mostly superficial stuff, Steve mentioned titbits about his work at Stark Industries, Bucky about how good the pancakes actually were, but the conversation flowed in a way Steve knew was rare to get. All the silences were natural, not awkward. Laughs were freely exchanged. Bucky held eye contact without looming, responded and listened in a way that was nice. And it all confirmed what Steve had originally thought upon seeing the guy; that he was just the kind of person Nat would consider family.

He almost forgot the purpose for meeting at the diner until Bucky pushed his plate to the side and leaned forward slightly.

“Okay,” he began. “I think we should perhaps stop complaining about Barton and figure out what we are, first.”

Steve blinked. “What?”

“Our date to the gala. We should be clear as to what we’re gonna do.”

Steve sipped his water and nodded. “Yeah, yeah, sorry,” he said. He felt flustered, like Bucky had suddenly launched this on him out of nowhere, even though this was what their impromptu breakfast had been building to.

“I guess you didn’t expect to be discussing our fake relationship status over breakfast on a Saturday morning, huh?”

Steve rubbed the back of his neck. “Not really, no,” he admitted with a smile. “I’ve just been thrown out of the loop by all of this. Nat said you were game to help me but I’m just… I’m just realising what I’m going to do.”

“And what is that, exactly?” Bucky asked. “I’d like some clarification as to who I am to you. That’ll help us figure things out.”

Steve nodded. Everything had happened so fast that he’d hardly had any time to actually think about it, to plan out what he wanted, to make clear how he wanted this to play out.

“Natalia didn’t say if we were going as platonic or romantic dates or not,” Bucky mused, casually sipping his water. “I’m cool with both. Whatever you’re comfortable with.”

Steve furrowed his brow. This decision would arguably be the most important, informing how the entire evening would go, but he would be lying if he hadn’t kind of assumed that romantic was the way they would go.

“Uh, romantic,” he said, clearing his throat. “Boyfriends. That would be good.”

“Alright,” Bucky nodded. “How long have we been together? Long-term? I feel like it would have to be in order for me to get an invite to such a fancy event.”

“Yeah,” Steve said. “Shall we say, eight or nine months?”

Bucky nodded like he was filing away the information for later use. “So we’re pretty serious?”

“I guess so. I mean, I did bring you as my plus one to this thing. Can’t have you embarrassing me.”

“I’ll make sure to tell everyone about how amazing you are, about how lucky I am to be with such a high-flier.”

“Hardly,” Steve scoffed.

“What _do_ you do at Stark Industries?”

“I run the art department. So whenever stuff needs to be look good, I’m the one they call. This year I’ve spent more time expanding the outreach programmes. The company funds a lot of arts groups for kids all around the city and I’ve been involved in that. Designing stuff for it and running groups and organising.” He exhaled. “It’s been a lot, but it’s been rewarding.”

“So you’re an artist?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s really cool. I can’t even draw a stick figure.”

“Good thing I’m the artistic one, then,” Steve teased. “What do you do?”

“I work for Shield,” Bucky said. “Classified.” Steve lifted his eyebrows. Bucky shrugged. “We can say it’s how we met,” he offered.

“You were on a top secret mission and we had a sweeping undercover romance?”

“It’s not quite as James Bond as you might think, I’m afraid. More plain old James Barnes. But let’s stick somewhat to the truth. Natalia introduced us, and then we… worked together when Shield and Stark Industries collaborated.”

“Alright.” Steve said. He could remember that. And it sounded logical, reasonable.

“So we’ve been together eight or nine months, met at work…” Bucky said. “We live together, I assume?”

“Yes.”

“You’re out to your co-workers?” Steve nodded. “So no one will surprised or _offended_ when we turn up together?”

“Surprised, no,” Steve replied, because he didn’t hide that fact about himself, even if he kept his private life private. “But anyone with a delicate constitution probably won’t say anything to my face. Or, _our_ faces.”

Bucky nodded. Steve had to stop himself from asking if Bucky was gay or bi or what, and focused on remembering all this shit about their ‘relationship’ instead. He didn’t need to know that about Bucky. Bucky honestly didn’t need to know the specifics with Steve, either, but he felt jarringly honest with him, like he knew that whatever he said, he wouldn’t be ridiculed or rejected.

“I should probably explain why I’m doing this,” he said slowly.

“You don’t have to. Obviously I’m curious as to why you aren’t just bringing along a plus one, but… it’s not my business to know.”

Steve ran his hand over his face. “Ah, well, I don’t have any friends who are available to go. They’re all either coupled up already or just can’t make it.”

Bucky nodded. There was no pity or laughter in his eyes. Still, Steve said, “God, that sounds so sad.”

Bucky leaned in, shaking his head. “It’s not sad. It sucks you haven’t got someone to come with you but I don’t see that as an indictment of your character or anything. Natalia spoke highly of you. That’s recommendation enough.”

“What did she say about me?”

“Uh-uh,” Bucky leaned back again. “I’m not telling you that. You’d get a big head.”

Steve rolled his eyes. And then he sighed. “I don’t _have_ to bring a date. I’m aware of that. And I’m not _embarrassed_ to be single, or anything, but… I don’t want to be alone at this thing. I won’t be alone. I know that. But I don’t want to look like I don’t have anyone who can be my date.”

Bucky didn’t say anything. He just waited, patient. Steve grimaced. “I uh—I was in a pretty bad relationship about a year ago. It wasn’t good for me— _he_ wasn’t good for me. He was an asshole, to be honest. And it’s taken longer than I’d expected it would to get away from it all. And then I found out that he’s coming to the gala and I just wanted a date. To stop him from thinking I was pathetic and alone.”

He cringed. That sounded awful even to his own ears.

“Sorry,” he said, shaking his head. “I know that sounds stupid.”

“Hey, no, that’s not stupid at all,” Bucky said. Steve looked up at how earnest he sounded, and the look of genuine concern in his pale eyes made his stomach swoop. Bucky leaned forward, all focus on him. “I’m sorry that happened to you. You don’t have to say anything else to me about it, unless you want to. I won’t ask.” Steve looked down at his hands. Bucky’s inched forward and then back again, like he’d changed his mind. Steve put his hands in his lap, beneath the table.

“Thanks,” he said, which felt inadequate after Bucky’s honesty and care.

There were strangers, after all. Brought together out of necessity, out of a favour. And true, maybe now that Bucky was back in the city after years of travelling they would’ve been introduced by Nat and have become friends anyway. But the fact still stood that Bucky was helping him out here, and didn’t have to do all this for Steve.

He felt embarrassed. For telling Nat’s friend about his shitty mistakes, for having him come along to the gala just because he didn’t want to go alone, for admitting, if indirectly, that he cared what Brock thought, despite everything.

“Don’t worry about it,” Bucky said, breaking Steve’s reverie. “I don’t get to go to these kinds of things very often, and when I have done before, it’s been a job. It’ll be nice to let loose as your plus one.”

“There’s an open bar,” Steve said, eager to diver the subject of conversation a little.

“Ah, well, I don’t drink,” Bucky shrugged. “Personal choice,” he clarified a moment later. “I’ll just look after you and show everyone up on the dance floor.”

“You dance?”

“Of course. You’re lucky to have me and not some other klutz.”

Steve smiled. “That’s yet to be proven.”

“Are you challenging me, Steve? Because I never back down from a challenge.”

Steve covered his eyes with his forehead. “God,” he said. “I totally understand why you and Nat are friends.”

Bucky was smirking when he looked up again. “Natalia and I—we have a lot in common.”

“I think she chose you just so she could hang out with you at a formal event.”

“As opposed to pizza nights at her place?”

“Clint will dress up for pizza night if he wants,” Steve laughed.

“So,” Bucky said, once he’d refilled his coffee cup. “What does the gala entail? Hors d’oeuvres? Chit-chat? Polite clapping?"

“All of that,” Steve said. “No, it’s actually fun. Corporate but fun. They’ll be a reception, lots of standing around and talking for the first bit, and then we’ll go into the banquet hall and they’ll be initial speeches. Then some food. Then I’m giving my speech along with a few others. Then dessert and then away with the rest of the night.” He shrugged. “It’ll be a good night, I think.”

Bucky’s eyes widened. “You’re giving a speech?”

“Yeah,” Steve said. He hoped playing it off as nothing would make him less nervous about standing up in front of everyone to boast about the work of his department. “Just a short one. About everything we’ve achieved with the outreach projects.”

“Wow,” Bucky said. “Seriously, Steve, that’s amazing. I’m gonna be a proud boyfriend.”

“Unless I flub my lines.”

“Even better, then.”

By the time they paid up and left, it was just gone eleven thirty. They’d established their cover story, which Steve thought made it sound like they were undercover and not just like he was bringing along a fake date. They were to be boyfriends of eight and a half months, having been introduced to each other by Nat. They’d been living with each other for four months, and were very happy thank you very much.

Steve hadn’t even noticed the time was passing when Bucky called for the bill. “I’m sorry to end it so early,” he apologised at the door. “If I didn’t have business to attend to in Manhattan I’d order another cup of coffee with you.”

Steve shook his head. “It’s alright. I’ve had a great time chatting with you, Bucky, thanks again for helping me out.”

“You need to stop thanking me,” Bucky said. “Honestly, I’m more than happy to be your date. Show that ex where to stick it, right?”

Steve exhaled. “Right.”

Bucky stuck out his hand. Steve took it. His own looked so pale and plain against the tattoos. A huge rose on the back of his palm, letters printed over his knuckles.

“I’ll text you,” Bucky said, holding eye contact again. “Update you on things, fire questions at you.”

“Cool,” Steve said, sensing that his ears were going red. Bucky smiled at him, in the crooked way that crinkled the corners of his eyes in a manner that told Steve that Bucky was amused by him, the smile just slightly sly and teasing. He could feel his blush going down his neck.

“Cool,” Bucky echoed. He let go of Steve and Steve jammed his hand in his coat pocket. “Have a good weekend, Steve.”

“You too,” Steve told him, and then he just stood there and watched Bucky walk away.

…

“So? What did you think?” Nat asked later that evening. She’d invited herself and Clint and Clint’s dog over and had been badgering him about Bucky from the moment she arrived.

“He seems nice,” Steve said, and he was being honest. He’d gotten really good vibes from the guy. Bucky had been understanding and kind and funny, too, and hadn’t seemed to think Steve was pathetic or selfish, at least not outwardly.

“…And?” Nat prompted. Steve squinted at her. She was clearly fishing for something.

“And what? He seems nice. We chatted a bit and then talked about the gala and then we left.” Steve shrugged. He decided to omit how he actually felt, how much fun he’d had just talking over breakfast food—Nat was right, he was a great conversationalist—and that he thought he was cute, too.

“She wants you to admit that Barnes is smoking hot,” Clint said from the floor, where he was ruffling Lucky’s ears. Steve pulled a face that was meant to suggest that he hadn’t even thought about that but of course Nat saw right through it.

She laughed, head tipping back. “Holy shit, you totally think he is,” she crowed. “I knew it.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “He’s cute. But I’m not ready for that.”

“Just the other day you said you were ready to start dating!”

“I said I was _thinking_ about it.”

“Well think about James, because he’s perfect for you. And you’re gonna be so glad I put you two together for the gala. Two handsome guys in suits… the entire room will be jealous.”

“Tash, you can go with him if you really want to,” Clint said. “I don’t mind going with Steve.”

“Reign in your enthusiasm,” Steve retorted, at the same time as Nat said, “I’m going with you, dummy.”

“Should I grow my hair out? Is that what it is?” Clint asked, a smile breaking the faux frown he was wearing. He lifted his arms. “Is it the biceps? I can go to the gym. Or get some tattoos. Just tell me what it is, Tash.”

Nat shot Steve a knowing look. “See.” She patted his arm. “There’s no harm in thinking he’s cute.”

…

He and Bucky didn’t see each other again for the next two weeks, but they did text. Steve enjoyed it, getting to know him even more, beyond their initial meeting. As the days drew on and their sporadic texts continued, so grew the feeling that their friendship was inevitable. Steve knew some of it was because he was grateful to Bucky for helping a stranger, even a stranger vouched for by Natasha. But the rest of it was what they had built, both at the diner, and over the course of the ensuing thirteen days.

It was nice.

 **Bucky:** _how formal is this shindig? Are we talking black tie or something a bit more casual?_

 **Steve:** _it’s black tie. Dress to impress kind of thing. It’s at the Maria Stark Hall, Bucky, not a bar._

 **Bucky:** _and here I was with my comedy bowtie shirt in hand._

Steve grinned at his phone like an idiot. He was glad Nat wasn’t at her desk, because he didn’t want her to know how well he and Bucky had actually been getting wrong. It was bad enough her crowing that she was an excellent matchmaker, no matter how many times Steve had reminded her it was all fake.

A few days later:

 **Bucky:** _are you alright with a taxi to get to this thing?_

 **Steve:** _no one in New York has a car, Buck. Of course I am._

 **Bucky:** _good. I’ll be there for six thirty._

And then:

 **Bucky:** _we didn’t discuss—what kind of boyfriend do you want me to be?_

It took Steve a few hours to respond, because he was busy at work, and because the question had thrown him. It felt so intimate. And yet it wasn’t. It was all about practicality.

 **Steve:** _how do you mean?_

 **Bucky:** _protective? Defensive? Supportive? Am I meant to be the asshole who clearly doesn’t fit into this swanky black tie event?_

Steve had a laugh at the idea of that.

 **Steve:** _if I say yes to the last one will you turn up with the comedy shirt instead?_

 **Bucky:** _I’ll turn up in jeans and a wrinkled suit jacket._

 **Steve:** _I don’t think you’d be let into the building._

 **Bucky:** _okay, so I’m meant to be setting-appropriate?_

 **Steve:** _please. And I guess just be a good boyfriend?_

He cringed the moment he pressed send. ‘good boyfriend’? As if that didn’t sound like a dig, no matter how deserving, at Brock. As if it didn’t sound like he was bitter.

 **Steve:** _I mean, just be my friend, you know? Don’t flirt with other people. Tell me I look nice. That sort of thing._

 **Bucky:** _I can do that._

But all the texting in the world couldn’t stop Steve from being nervous.

Finally, it was the night of the gala. He had left work and then spent the next two hours making himself a snack, showering, and getting ready. He was wearing a suit he’d bought earlier in the year, a deep grey-toned blue, paired with a white shirt, bow tie, and black shoes. Sam had reassured him the blue brought out his eyes.

He combed through his hair, styling it back even though it would be flopping over his forehead before he even got out of the taxi, applied some cologne, and was feeling good by the time Bucky texted him to let him know he was about ten minutes out. Then Steve had a brief panic, doubting whether he was dressed up enough, eyeing himself in the mirror, but then there was the sound of his buzzer and he hurried to answer it.

“Hello?”

“Hey,” said Bucky, his voice crackling through the line. Steve was struck momentarily by the sound of his voice, here, in his apartment, and not contained in his head or through text messages. “I’m waiting outside.”

“Great, I’ll be down in just a sec,” Steve replied, and then he was grabbing his phone, wallet, keys, coat, running his hand over his hair one last time, turning out the lights, locking his front door, and clambering down the stairs.

The foyer was empty, quiet, and Steve’s shoes tapped against the floor. He opened the door and almost fell backwards. Bucky was stood in the street, lit by the yellow streetlamps reflecting off the snow-laden streets. A taxi was waiting, lit orange.

“Hey,” Bucky said. He grinned.

“Hi,” Steve mumbled. He stared. It had been two weeks, and now Bucky was right there, dressed in a pitch black suit with a matching black shirt and tie, hair tied back, beard trimmed. He looked like a fucking model.

“Is this formal enough?” he asked, holding out his arms.

“Yeah,” Steve said. “It absolutely is.” He stepped out into the frigid night air. “You look great.”

Bucky laughed self-deprecatingly. “Thanks. You clean up pretty good yourself, Rogers.”

Steve almost missed a step. “You sound surprised.”

“It’s just an observation.”

Steve pushed his hair off his forehead, but it flopped back down again. Bucky walked ahead to the taxi and held the door for him, like it was a date. Steve slid onto the backseat, Bucky following, and they sped off.

“You seem nervous,” Bucky said when they got to the end of the street.

“I am,” Steve said. The speech, Brock, the fact that he was bringing along a fake date. He pulled his gaze away from the lights outside the window and back to the man sitting next to him. “Are you? I know isn’t something you do every day.”

Bucky laughed. “No, no it isn’t. But you seem like a nice guy.”

“Does that make it easier?”

“To be your date? Yes.”

Steve had to look out of the window.

Bucky’s voice was quiet. “If it makes it easier, just ignore the fact that I’m not actually your boyfriend. I’m still your date to this thing either way. I've got your back.”

Steve nodded. He was right. No need to be anxious about it all. “Thanks,” he murmured. Bucky elbowed him gently. Steve looked up at him.

“And you look good. The blue… it suits you.”

Steve shot him a smile. “Thanks.” It was good to hear.

When they arrived, there were people piling into the ornate downtown building the gala had always been held in, jumping out of taxis, all dressed to the nines. Steve smoothed his hand over the front of his suit and waited for Bucky to step out. He had his coat over his arm.

“Wow,” he said, looking up at the building. “I didn’t think it was this nice.”

“Stark wouldn’t settle for anything less.”

“You wanna head inside?” Bucky asked, and they ascended the steps. At the door, Steve gave their names, and then inside the foyer they exchanged their coats for numbered chips to collect when they left.

The room was large, hardwood floors, tall ceilings, chandeliers. A wall of mirrors along one end. Steve knew Stark never disappointed. They’d arrived just before it started to get busy, so Steve texted Nat to let her and Clint know that they would be waiting for them.

“You know, the woman taking the coats gave me a dirty look,” Bucky said. He was eyeing the room, taking it all in. Steve fiddled with his cufflinks.

“What?” he asked. “Why?”

Bucky raised his hands. He had a gold ring on one finger and the stamped metal gleamed. “Not for proper company, I suppose.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “Please. Everyone has tattoos.”

“Do you?”

Steve gave an uneasy laugh. “Yeah. And no you can’t see it.”

“Come on,” Bucky said, leaning in a little closer. “As your boyfriend, I think I should know.” When Steve hesitated, he smirked. “Is it somewhere embarrassing?”

“No!” Steve exclaimed. “No, fine, it’s not. It’s on my arm.” He patted his bicep, just above his elbow. “It’s a star.”

“Nice,” Bucky said.

“Do you only have them on your arms?” Steve returned the question. It was something a boyfriend would know, obviously.

Bucky splayed his hands out. “Both arms, bit of my back and chest as well. And then the letter N on my ankle. Natalia.”

“Does she have a B?”

“No, a J. She won’t call me Bucky.”

Steve smiled. “Huh,” he said. The sight of Bucky’s hands and forearms, as inked as they were, had sparked something in him at _Angie’s_ , but knowing that there was more, more that he couldn’t and wasn’t going to see… it made that spark burn hotter. He cleared his throat.

“I think they’re nice,” he said quietly. “Screw that lady.”

Bucky laughed. “Thanks.”

The room was rapidly beginning to fill. Wait staff were dipping around with trays of champagne and nibbles. Steve grabbed a flute and downed it. He wasn’t claustrophobic or uneasy with crowds or anything, but he’d been keeping an eye on the door whether he liked it or not, waiting for Brock to appear.

“Steve,” Bucky said. He put a hand on Steve’s elbow, gentle, guided him further away from the middle of the room. “Hey,” he said, drawing Steve’s attention. “It’s gonna be alright, okay? I’m not gonna let anything happen to you.”

Steve nodded. He shook his head to clear it. He gave the empty flute to a passing waiter.

“It’s just… I know he’s going to be here. In the building. I’ll have Nat and Clint and I have you as well and I know nothing will happen but…” he trailed off.

“Is he here?” Bucky asked, eyes darting past him momentarily, scanning the room.

“I don’t know. I don’t think so.”

“Just focus on me,” Bucky said. I promise everything will be alright.”

Steve nodded. “Okay.”

Bucky let go of his arm. Steve took a calming breath. Bucky bumped his shoulder against his.

“Look,” he said. Steve looked, seeing them both there, lit in gold. They were by the mirrors, huge gilded things hanging against the wall, reflecting back the room and all the lights and glittering dresses. “I think we look good together,” Bucky said, voice low and slightly amused. His mouth quirked into a grin that made Steve’s stomach swoop. There was something about his personality, self-assured without being obnoxious, that did something to him. It made him feel safe. How much of it was genuine and how much was just fulfilling his lame request for Bucky to be a ‘good boyfriend’, he didn’t know. That didn’t mean it didn’t make him feel good.

And then a comment like that. Steve eyed their reflections as they both stood side by side. They did look good together, Bucky all dark and rugged, Steve blond and pale and decidedly not rugged. They complimented each other. Now all he needed to do was chill out and enjoy the evening.

Someone called his name and he looked over. It was Wanda from communications, dressed in a deep red gown, hauling a tall, skinny guy with bleached-blond hair behind her.

“Steve!” she said, hugging him briefly before pulling away. “Hi, so nice to see you!”

“You look beautiful, Wanda,” Steve said, unable to help his smile. He and Wanda got on well. “I thought you weren’t going to make it.”

She’d been in Sokovia for a week and a half. “Yeah, arrived about two hours ago,” she said, eyes the wide of someone with serious jetlag. “Wouldn’t miss your speech for the world.” She turned to the man. “This is Pietro, my brother. He’s an engineer.”

“Oh, cool, hi,” Steve said, offering his hand. “Nice to meet you.”

Wanda was staring at Bucky. “Who’s this?” she asked Steve. “I didn’t think you were bringing anyone.”

Steve glanced at Bucky. Bucky grinned at him, leaving him to will the lie out of his mouth and pray that it sounded believable.

“This is James,” he said. Bucky slid his hand over to rest on the small of his back, easy as breathing.

“James, hi, I’m Wanda.”

Bucky’s response was effortless. “Please, call me Bucky. Steve’s told me so much about you.”

Wanda raised her eyebrows and wiggled them. “It’s good to meet you, James. I’m afraid the same can’t be said about you.”

“Ah,” Bucky said, looking at Steve. “Are you embarrassed of me, babe?”

Steve felt his entire neck burn. “No,” he said, flustered. “No, I’m not.”

Bucky hummed. “I’m Steve’s boyfriend. Enough to live with but not enough to boast about to colleagues.”

Steve looked away. God. Why did he feel embarrassed?

“Steve, I had no idea you were even in a relationship!” Wanda exclaimed. “How long has this been going on?”

“Oh, uh, eight and a half months,” Steve said. Wanda looked like she wanted to shake him.

“And you never introduced me.”

“You’ll have to forgive him,” Bucky stepped in. “I’ve been travelling for the past few months. I was in Sokovia, actually, in September. I recognise your accent.”

Wanda perked up even more at this. “Wow, so we just missed each other,” she said. “I was there just last week for work.”

“Small world,” Bucky said.

Wanda looked impressed. Steve felt Bucky’s hand burning into his spine.

“I’ll leave you two to it, then,” Wanda said. “See you later!” She turned and began to walk away. Pietro fist bumped Bucky, muttering something, and Bucky laughed.

“ _Izinjavam se. Lopta i lanac ovde_ ,” he said, and Steve tried not to look surprised. Pietro snorted and walked away.

“What was that?” Steve asked once they were alone.

“Serbian.”

“No. What did you say?”

“Oh. He said that Wanda used to have a crush on you. I said I was the old ball and chain.”

Steve stared at him. “Unbelievable,” he said. Bucky grinned, hands going back into his pockets.

“Am I doing well so far?”

“Jesus, yes, okay,” Steve said.

There was a satisfying click of heels on marble, and Steve looked over to find Natasha stalking towards them. She looked amazing as always, dressed in perfectly fitted black satin dress and stiletto heels, commanding the room. Clint hurried alongside her, in a suit albeit with mismatched socks and no tie.

“You boys look handsome,” she commented before any of them could say anything, pressing a kiss to Steve’s cheek and patting Bucky’s. “Match made in heaven if I have to say so myself.”

Steve knew she was already enjoying herself way too much.

“Steve’s embarrassed by me,” Bucky said. “Can you believe he hasn’t told anyone he’s been dating anyone?”

“Steve likes being the centre of attention,” Nat said. Clint had disappeared to look for drinks and snacks. Steve narrowed his eyes.

“I do not.”

Nat lifted an eyebrow. “Sure you don’t.”

Clint came back with a mouth full of miniature quiches and three flutes of champagne, which they sipped as they chatted. Bucky held Steve’s glass without prompting when he fished out his phone to show Clint a video Sam had sent him, and Steve realised pretty quickly that he liked having him by his side. He was a solid presence, and he smelled nice, too.

Nat checked the time. “Let’s get some pictures,” she said, pulling out her iPhone. “Before Steve is totally shit-faced.”

“Oh my god,” Steve said. She was having _so much fun_ with this entire thing. He should’ve gone alone and dealt with being a third wheel.

Nat found a nice place to stand for photos. She wanted a solo pic first, which she looked absolutely flawless in. Then she wanted several with Clint, who looked so besotted it made Steve feel like a proud mom. Then she asked Janice from marketing to take photos of all four of them together Steve was wedged in between Nat and Bucky, and putting his arm around Bucky felt as natural as anything.

“Okay!” Nat said, thanking Janice and taking her phone back. “Now one with me and James.” She thrust her phone at Clint. Steve held his champagne flute and watched Nat and Bucky standing together. They looked like a power couple with their matching black outfits, her blunt red bob and satisfied expression matching Bucky’s smirk. Steve could tell they’d got up to all kinds of shit together.

“You’re a lucky guy, Clint,” Steve said, as Clint checked through the photos.

“I know,” Clint said. “So are you, Rogers.”

He shot Steve a grin. Then Nat beckoned Steve over so he could take photos with her.

“How many do you need?” he asked and she shushed him, sticking her leg out slightly, ever photogenic.

“I’m taking plenty because none of you lot ever do,” she said. “Now smile, Steven. Don’t make me look bad.”

He smiled. He was pretty sure she couldn’t ever look bad. Then she hugged him properly, laughing, and he squeezed her back.

“You and James look amazing together,” she said into his ear. “I’m so glad you’re both here.”

Steve let her go and looked at her. “Stop trying to play matchmaker, please,” he said, and she squeezed his forearms.

“I’m not doing anything. I can’t help if you keeping looking at him like that.”

“We’re friends. Barely. He’s doing _you_ a favour,” Steve said.

“Yeah, he is,” she replied. "You too." And then she was walking back to Clint and shoving Bucky over with orders to hurry up before they were called in for dinner.

Steve felt his heart skip a beat when Bucky walked back towards him, and wiped his hands on his thighs as surreptitiously as he could.

“Come on,” Bucky said, smiling at him. “We might as well.”

“Nat won’t take no for an answer.”

Bucky stood beside him. He adjusted Steve’s bow tie. “Am I really that bad?” he asked, and Steve was lost for words for a moment, before stuttering out a _no_.

Bucky put his arm around him again, the touch firm but not constricting. Convincing. Not even slightly awkward or forced. Steve took a steadying breath. He really did smell amazing, something earthy and fresh. And the press of his body against Steve’s was nice. It was all very nice.

“Amazing,” Natasha said from behind her phone. “Steve, James is making you look so good.”

Steve rolled his eyes and Bucky looked across at him, staying that way for long enough that Steve looked over.

“What?” he said.

“Nothing,” Bucky murmured. He adjusted his stance slightly. “You do look good, Steve.”

Nat was walking over, apparently satisfied. “I’m sending everyone the pictures,” she said. Steve fished out his phone and opened them the second they appeared, scrolling quickly past all of the ones of him and the others until he reached his and Bucky’s. He stared at them. They were good photos. And he was both pleased and mildly surprised to see just how natural they looked. Their easy smiles. Their comfortable stances. And then he got to the last few. One where he was still looking at the camera, but Bucky was looking at him. And then another, where they were looking at each other.

A tiny voice in the back of his head was laughing. _You look like a couple, a real couple_ , it told him.

He zoomed in a little. Bucky was right. They did look good together.

He almost jumped when a bell rang out over the chatter and laughter filling the hall. James Rhodes, formally known as Rhodey, announced that they were to move into the banquet hall, and the room began to move en mass. Steve pocketed his phone. Nat and Clint were already walking ahead, Nat deep in conversation with Wanda and Pietro.

“You ready to go?” Bucky asked. He was waiting patiently. Steve nodded.

“Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, sorry.”

“Did the photos turn out alright?”

“Really good.”

Bucky smiled. Then he held out his hand. Steve didn’t hesitate to take it. It felt right. They walked forward, following the crowd.

“If I do anything and you’re not comfortable, just say,” Bucky murmured, quiet enough that he couldn’t be overheard.

“I don’t think you could make me uncomfortable,” Steve said in reply. He was telling the truth.

“But just in case. I don’t want to cross a line.”

Steve felt those two flutes of champagne filling in his head. It made him a little bold. “We’re boyfriends,” he said, and Bucky’s hand twitched in his. “Just do what feels natural.”

And then they were walking into the banquet hall, and there wasn’t much to say except ‘wow’ at the marble floors, the pillars wrapped in string lights, the band, the cleared dancefloor, the glittering chandeliers, the tables topped with candles and decorations. So excessive, so Stark, and yet so classy.

Clint waved at them from their table, situated to the centre left, and they found their seats.

“Brock’s on table 25,” Nat said lowly. Steve had almost completely forgot about him. He glanced at their table number. 14. He peered around the room.

“I haven't seen him,” he said.

“Me either,” Nat replied.

Twenty minutes later, after more drinks had been served and everyone was seated—there were two empty seats at 25 so Steve assumed Brock and his date had bailed or were late—the room filled with applause as Tony Stark clambered onto the stage. He gave a rousing speech about how proud he was of the company, about how much he disliked Hammer Inc, and gave a toast to another year, and then gave the stage up to Pepper Potts, who, by all means, was the real boss, if not the face of the company. She ran everything. Steve had had the pleasure of meeting her a few times before and always thought she was what made Stark Industries function. Her speech was more subdued, but heartfelt.

“Thank you, sincerely, each and every one of you. It’s a team effort, honestly. Please, enjoy your night.”

There was a huge round of applause, and then the band began to play some jazzy tunes, and an army of wait staff appeared out of nowhere, armed with endless plates of starters. The others sat at table 14 were three of the interns from Steve and Nat’s department, Peter, MJ, and Ned, who had been drafted in under recommendation of Tony Stark himself, and Wanda and Pietro. The interns looked a little nervous to be in the presence of who were essentially their bosses, but Clint quickly put them at ease, and soon the whole table was talking over their food.

“This is actually fancy,” Bucky said, sipping some water. “Thank you again for bringing me.”

Steve laughed. “It’s a free night out with some of the best chefs in the city. But you should really thank Nat.”

By the end of the starter, Steve had realised just how close Nat and Bucky were. They were all inside jokes and easy, sibling-like banter. Steve didn’t feel excluded, though, and found himself happy to just sit and watch his friends talk. The niggling worry about his speech and about Brock as a no-show or not made it hard for him to think of much to say.

Then the main course showed up, and once that was eaten and the plates vanished away, people began milling around a little. Steve got up to talk to a few colleagues, say hello and how are you. When he came back, Nat was introducing Clint and Bucky to some of the management department.

“—is James, Steve’s boyfriend,” she was saying, and Steve didn’t miss the glee in her tone. She looked over to him. “Steve!” she said. “You’ve kept your boyfriend rather secret.”

“And you’re revealing him to everyone,” Steve said dryly. Bucky smiled, hand easily coming to shift up and down his back, a soothing gesture.

And for the next forty minutes or so, that was all he did. People would come over to say hi, and he had to introduce Bucky as his long-term boyfriend over and over again, to people he worked with.

“I feel bad lying to people,” he said, and Bucky laughed.

“Bit late to back out now, babe,” he said, and Steve’s co-workers laughed.

After an hour, when people had started returning to their seats and when Bucky got up to go to the bathroom, Peter leaned over the spare seat and Steve did the same.

“Who is that man?” Peter asked. “I don’t recognise him.”

“Clint?” Steve asked. “You’ve met Clint. He was at the gallery launch in October.”

“No, no, the one sitting here,” Peter clarified, motioning to the empty chair.

“Oh!” Steve said. “That’s my date. James Barnes.”

Peter blinked. “Really?”

Steve laughed. “Yeah. Why?”

Peter didn’t answer, but MJ gave him a withering look and said, “He thinks he’s intimidating.”

Steve laughed, and then he thought about it. Bucky, all in black, tattoos, those massive arms and shoulders. He thought about his very initial response to him, when he’d stood up in the diner two weeks previous.

“He’s really nice. Just talk to him,” he said.

Nat had been listening in and added, “Ask him about space,” she advised. “Anything about the new Mars missions.”

And then Bucky was coming back, a hand on Steve’s shoulder in greeting, and Steve heard Peter introduce himself and MJ and Ned, and then the inciting space question, and then it was conversation for a solid fifteen minutes. Steve leaned back in his chair and watched Bucky talking. He’d had no idea he was interested in space. But the enthusiasm in his voice was palpable and the interns looked thrilled.

“You’ve won them over,” Steve said quietly, when Bucky looked back at him.

“They make me feel dumb. You know MJ has a contract with NASA after this?”

“Pietro works for the Wakandan space programme,” he said, and Bucky looked stunned.

Nat, Clint, and a few of the others got up to, quoting Clint, ‘go ham on the open bar’, and Steve took out his cue cards. He always got nervous in anticipation of giving a speech in front of a lot of people, and he knew he’d be fine once he got to the podium, but he wanted to use this time to practice, get his head on straight.

“You’re gonna do great,” Bucky said. He’d taken off his jacket, rolled his sleeves to his elbows, and loosened his tie just a little. His hair was falling out to frame his face like it had in the diner. Steve knew he was fucked. He stared at the cue cards. They were pretty sparse, which didn’t help.

“I’ve been writing it for months now. I just don’t want to forget anyone.”

“If you do, you can thank them later,” Bucky said. He put arm over the back of Steve’s chair. “I’m gonna whistle really loudly when you’re done,” he said. Steve felt some of the tension leach from his shoulders.

“No you won’t, or I’ll break up with you right on the stage.”

Bucky put a hand to his chest. “You hurt me, Steve.”

There was the sound of a spoon hitting a wineglass, and gradually the room quietened, the band falling silent. Rhodey was back at the podium. He thanked everyone for attending and then welcomed two other speakers onto the stage, and then, a little while later he said, “And finally, to round us off, we have Steve Rogers, here to talk about the outreach projects we’ve completed during this brilliant year of Stark Industries.”

Steve stood up, hiding his cue cards in his pocket. Nat and Clint were cheering already.

“Good luck,” Bucky said as he pushed his chair in, and Steve let the two words echo around and around his head as he approached the stage and walked across the podium. The lights were bright, but not so much that he couldn’t see everyone. He set his cards on the podium and cleared his throat and waited for the clapping to die down.

“Good evening everyone,” he began. The microphone squealed. He winced. “I hope we’re all having a great evening, celebrating the amazing work we’ve all contributed over the last year.”

There was a round of applause. He looked out at the crowds, ready to carry on speaking, and then he saw him.

Brock. Stood up by table 25. Watching.

Steve looked away. The effect was instant. His heart was already pounding. That horrible tightness that had built and built and built during their entire relationship seeped back into his chest. He pushed his hand through his hair and shuffled his cards. He could barely even read what he’d written.

Where the fuck had Brock come from? When? How? Why hadn’t Steve noticed?

Steve forced himself to look back out. He searched for his table, for his friends. Nat and Clint were whispering to each other. They’d realised what was going on, then.

Bucky seemed to as well. He was standing, arms folded over his chest, looking right at Steve. Holding his gaze. But it was different. It wasn’t like being looked _at_. It was like he was trying to tell Steve that he could do it, that he was here for him, that he was okay.

Steve turned the cue cards over. And then he spoke, and he hardly looked away from Bucky.

It was like he zoned out, because when he came to, he was saying, “Thank you everyone! And happy holidays!” and everyone was clapping.

Steve stepped back. Rhodey was there, shaking his hand and grinning.

“Great job, Steve,” he said. "You were last for a reason."

“Thanks,” Steve said. He headed for the steps. He shook people’s hands and said thank you as he hurried for his table. He heard Nat and Clint whooping as he approached, and then his eyes focused. He saw Bucky stood waiting for him, saw him bringing a hand to his mouth so he could whistle through his fingers, once, loud and sharp, drawing more than a few stares.

“Jesus,” Steve said, mostly to himself.

Nat wrapped him in a hug, Clint slapped him on the back.

“That was amazing,” Nat said. “Steve, I’m so proud of you. Are you alright?”

Steve felt vaguely shaky but otherwise okay. Brock’s presence had shocked him but Bucky had grounded him. And he’d done it.

“Yeah,” he said. “Where did he come from?”

“I think he appeared as you were walking up to the stage,” she explained. She looked angry.

Steve nodded. “Okay.” He looked at Bucky. “You whistled,” he said, vaguely embarrassed. There was a lot of emotions and adrenalin rushing through him.

“Yeah. That was a killer speech,” Bucky said. And then he was stepping in closer to kiss Steve on the cheek and hug him, and the applause and the uptick of the band once again faded out. Steve hugged him back. They fit just right.

Bucky pulled away first. “You good?” he asked. It was a two-in-one question, about Brock, and about whether the kiss was okay.

Steve blinked. He felt utterly dazed. But he was. He felt like he was buzzing. He didn’t let go of Bucky’s shirt until they were both sat down again, and he didn’t even find the room to feel embarrassed for it.

It wasn’t until dessert was placed in front of him that he returned to the present. He stood.

“I’m going to the bathroom,” he said, and Nat immediately looked at Bucky, who was already out of his chair.

“James, go with him.”

Steve was already moving. He looked across the room at table 25. Brock wasn’t there. He looked over his shoulder. Bucky was walking after him, dodging waiters, yanking his suit jacket on.

In the bathroom, Steve went and splashed water on his face. Bucky stood nearby, hovering, unsure, and it was the first time all evening that he looked awkward.

“I’m sorry, about this,” Steve said. Bucky pulled some paper towels from the dispenser and handed them to him. He patted his face dry. “I’m putting you in a weird position. It’s not your job to look after me.” He tossed the paper towels into the bin and caught sight of himself in the mirror. God, what a mess. He suddenly felt a wave of anger with himself, with Brock, with his fucking nerve, after all this time. “You’re not even my boyfriend,” he spat, and he immediately regretted it, because Bucky’s face shifted. He actually looked upset.

“Steve,” he said. “Look, I know this is… strange. We hardly know each other. But I agreed to do this for you. And I’ve been having a good time.” He stepped a little closer, without crowding Steve in. “I think you have been too.”

Steve sighed. He turned and leaned against the countertop. “Yeah,” he agreed. He’d had a good time. The good company of friends, some nice food, and a speech that had gone well, all things considered. But Brock—just showing up like that, knowing Steve would stumble.

“Who are you most angry at?” Bucky asked. The question was startling.

“What?” Steve asked, looking at him. Bucky held his hands out, palms facing Steve.

“Are you angry with him for being an asshole like always, or are you mad at yourself for reacting to him?”

Steve bit his lip. Thought about it. “Him,” he finally said. The anger and bitterness that had propelled him into the bathroom in the first place fell away like a brick, leaving him feeling lighter than he had all evening. “Him,” he repeated. “I’m angry that he came.”

“Right. You’re not mad at yourself. Not really. Your reaction is totally justified.” Steve closed his eyes. He could hear muffled Christmas music and the murmur of people talking and laughing from the banquet hall. “Whatever he did to you, Steve, that’s on him. Not you,” Bucky continued. Steve scrunched his eyes shut even tighter. “You can be mad at him for being here, but you can’t be mad at yourself. That’s not fair. And it’s also not fair to let how pissed off you are ruin your night.”

Steve opened his eyes. “I’m not the only one mad at him.”

“I know. Natalia—she’s furious. Clint too.”

Steve looked at Bucky. Really looked at him. He’d come into the bathroom with him, had talked to him, hadn’t laughed or criticised him. He’d just empathised. Steve wondered how exactly he’d gotten so lucky with his fake boyfriend for the night.

“Are you?” he blurted out. Bucky stared at him. Tucked a piece of hair behind his ear. “Angry?” Steve prompted.

“Yeah. Yes, I am,” Bucky said. “I think we’re friends, Steve. And I don’t like people who mistreat my friends.”

It really was as simple as that.

“You’re a good friend, Buck.”

“I’m a good boyfriend too. Even just for the night.” His smile was so endearing that it made Steve laugh. “Come on. We don’t want to miss dessert.”

“ _You_ don’t, you mean,” Steve said. “Haven’t you had enough of the free meal?”

“Never,” Bucky said.

They returned to the banquet hall. Some people had already finished dessert and had migrated in equal measure to the bar and onto the dancefloor. Only Nat and Clint remained at their table when they arrived.

“Steve,” said Clint. “We got worried, man. I saw him headed for the bathrooms.”

“Didn’t see him,” Steve said. Nat put her hand on the side of his face, reaching up because she was still short even in heels. “I’m alright," he reassured her. "Just needed a minute alone."

Bucky had his hands on the back of Steve’s chair. “You want a drink?” he asked.

“Please,” Steve said, and Bucky took Clint and Nat’s orders and walked off.

“What happened?” Nat asked. “You were gone for at least ten minutes.”

“He just talked me down. Figured out I was mad at Brock not myself.” Steve pushed his hair back from his head. “Seeing him just… spooked me. But Bucky helped. He’s a good person, Nat.”

“I’m the last person who needs to be told that,” she replied. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah,” Steve said. He felt enlightened, much better than he expected he would after seeing Brock, even from across the room. “I just want to enjoy my night with my friends. That’s it.”

Bucky returned, expertly holding three drinks, and the four of them sat and ate their desserts. Then Clint stood and flung his jacket aside and beckoned Nat onto the dance floor, where they immediately began some embarrassingly couple-y jig right in the very middle that was suspiciously choreographed.

“They’re cute,” Bucky said.

“Sickeningly so,” Steve agreed. They sat and ate in companionable silence, and Steve pushed the rest of his to Bucky, not feeling up to anymore rich food. He just sat and sipped his drink, and watched people slowly joining in on the dancing. The band was in full swing, playing jaunty covers of Christmas classics interspersed with a more general dance track list.

Steve kept an eye out, still. A few more people came over to tell him well done on the speech or just to chat, and he found himself introducing Bucky multiple times to people he hardly knew. Bucky took it all in his stride.

And then a woman came over while Steve was leaning away in his seat to talk to a co-worker sat at the next table, and she began to flirt with Bucky, clear and obvious as day. Steve watched out of the corner of his eye. Bucky hadn’t said anything about whether he was bi but he hadn’t actually said he was gay, either, though why would Nat be trying to set them up if he wasn’t?

Finishing his conversation, Steve turned his attention to the scene unfolding next to him, and a curl of jealously went through him when the woman reached out a hand and slid her fingers over Bucky’s forearm.

“Hi, I don’t think we’ve met,” he broke in, and the woman pulled back, shooting him a look. “I’m Steve.”

“Amy,” said the woman.

There was a pause. Then Steve let his stubbornness and pride get the better of himself and stood. “I’m going to get another drink, baby,” he said, sliding his hand over Bucky’s shoulder and down over his chest. Bucky lifted his own hand to clasp Steve's, looking up at him with a shit-eating smirk. “Be right back.”

And then he walked away, straight to the bar, and ordered a shot. Swallowing down, he grimaced. “Fucking hell,” he said to himself, ordering another drink, and then he turned and walked back to the table, now Amy-less. Bucky was sat in his chair, legs spread, grin on his face.

“ _Baby_?” he crowed. “Really getting into character there, Stevie.”

Steve tried to be nonchalant but he knew he’d pushed across a line, here, and first, even though Bucky had been the one to worry about boundaries when it came to PDA. He’d revealed his hand and now he couldn’t take it back. He’d been clearly and purposefully possessive over a guy who wasn't even his.

“What?” he said. He sat down and sipped his drink, hiding behind his glass.

They sat in silence for a moment, and then Bucky shifted in his seat and put his hand on Steve’s knee. His grip was tight, and Steve felt heat burning in his stomach at the sight of that tatted hand on his leg, index finger halfway up his thigh, and at the look Bucky was giving him, like he wanted to laugh at him.

“Are you taking advantage of me because I’ve had a few?” he asked, and Bucky snorted.

“Oh, sure buddy. After you groped me.”

“Tit for tat,” Steve said. “Literally.”

“Have some water,” Bucky said. “There’s no shame in not trying to drink like Natalia can.”

Steve drank the water.

“Come and dance,” Bucky said after he’d finished the glass. Steve laughed.

“No,” he scoffed. “I don’t dance. Can’t. Besides,” he said, looking at himself and then at Bucky. “Which of us would lead?”

“Me, clearly,” Bucky said, like it was obvious. “You might be taller but shit, Rogers, at least I know my left from my right.”

“Look, just go and dance, leave me alone,” Steve said, but he was grinning, cheeks aching from it.

Bucky got up and Steve watched him walk away. Then he watched him dancing with Nat and Clint and Wanda and Pietro, and then watched him doing a very precise if short-lived cha cha slide with the interns, and then he danced with Nat, and Steve could see them laughing with each other.

Steve glanced down at his phone. He didn’t want to be that guy, moping alone at his table, staring at his cell all evening instead of taking part, but whatever.

He had a text from Sharon, and three from Sam. He opened Sharon’s first.

 **Sharon:** _Nat sent me pictures. Didn’t know your date was so cute. I'm glad I couldn't come and ruin that ;)_

Steve wondered exactly what Nat had said, and how little she’d explained about Bucky’s presence.

 **Sam:** _holy shit, Steve. me and riley wish we were there to see Nat’s friend!!_

 **Sam:** _she’s 100% trying to set you up and I say go for it, honestly._

 **Sam:** _you already look like a couple. Steve please don’t waste this opportunity especially when you’re both looking so good_

Steve put his phone back into his pocket.

He was halfway through his drink when Bucky came over, slightly breathless, eyes shining.

“Come on,” he said, extending a hand. “Please, Stevie. You can’t just sit there and drink while everyone else is dancing.” Bucky came to stand right in front of him. “I don’t want to leave you sitting here by yourself,” he said, and that sobered Steve up a little.

Bucky waggled his fingers. Steve pulled a face.

“What will people think, if I let my boyfriend sit alone all evening?” Bucky asked, so Steve stood up and took the proffered hand.

They began to dance, and the boppy Christmas track melted away after thirty seconds or so into a slower-paced, vocal led ballad.

“Perfect,” Bucky teased, and he adjusted Steve’s hand on his side. Steve rolled his eyes. He saw Nat and Clint turning in a slow circle, hugging each other tight, both a little drunk. And then Bucky pulled him in closer, so they were chest-to-chest, and Steve wasn’t drunk, but he was still a little dazed from everything, so he let himself put his head on Bucky’s shoulder without overthinking it.

“Now, isn’t this nice?” Bucky said into his ear.

“I’ve stood on your toes twice,” Steve retorted. They kept turning. “But yeah. It’s nice. Thanks.”

He lifted his head. Bucky was looking at him again.

“What?” he said.

“You’ve been a good date, Steve. I’m glad Nat called me.”

“I bet you thought this favour was gonna be a lot less fancy,” Steve told him, glancing upwards at what seemed like thousands of lights hung from the ceiling, making the whole room glow.

“Yeah, I did,” Bucky admitted. “But this has been fun.”

“For the most part,” Steve muttered. Bucky furrowed his brow.

“Hey, I promised you nothing would happen. That I wouldn’t leave you alone. I wasn’t kidding.”

Steve felt his heart flutter. “You can’t say shit like that,” he said. “Like we’re actually boyfriends.”

Bucky took a moment before he responded. “Just for the night,” he said, like that made it all reasonable, like how everything he did and said and everything about how he looked and smelled was _just fine,_ that it was making Steve crazy, but only for a night, and then it would be over.

He must have known the effect he was having. But Steve wasn’t about to say it. That wasn’t what this was. What it was meant to be.

So he just let Bucky lead, just let himself enjoy his warmth and solidness and the easy way their bodies fit together, because it was just for one night. And he could enjoy nice things, just for one night.

But nice things didn’t always last. He saw Brock standing by one of the pillars. The twinkly lights didn’t make his sneer any less stomach-churning. Bucky must have noticed the tension that worked its way into Steve’s limbs, because he squeezed his hand and murmured his name.

“There,” Steve muttered, eyes darting towards Brock for a second before dipping away again. “By the pillar. Grey suit. Buzzcut.”

They turned slowly. “Mean looking?” Bucky asked, and Steve nodded. Bucky didn’t say anything for a while, and then, as if he was thinking hard about it, “Looks like a dick.”

Steve laughed despite himself. “Yeah. You could say that.”

“I’m a massive step up.”

“You’re way out of my league.”

They turned again. Steve was looking at Brock once more. And Brock looked at him. Lifted his eyebrows like it was a challenge, or a game. Steve kept his face neutral, and just put his nose in Bucky’s shoulder. He didn’t want to give Brock anything. He regretted roping Bucky into this, because at the end of the day, it was all about proving to his asshole ex that he was wrong, that Steve could find someone, and all Steve had done was created a farce.

“Stop thinking about him,” Bucky said. “Let’s go sit down.”

They did. It was almost twelve thirty. Some people were starting to head home. Clint and Nat were still dancing, apparently endlessly energised.

Bucky asked a passing waiter for a jug of water and when it arrived, he poured them both a glass and clinked his against Steve’s.

“Happy Christmas, Steve.”

Steve smiled. He felt tired all of a sudden. Happy, but tired. He couldn’t see Brock anymore but he didn’t care. He had Bucky. He had his happy drunk friends.

Bucky pushed his chair until it was as close to Steve’s as he could get it, and sat down. They drank water and critiqued the architecture of the room, the dance moves of Steve’s colleagues. Soon enough Steve had sobered up considerably, though the open bar was still going.

“You think they’d give us the leftover cake if we asked?” Bucky mused, craning his neck.

“We?” Steve asked. “I don’t want cake.”

“You a pie-lover?”

“Always.”

“Mmm. Deal breaker,” Bucky said softly, smiling at him. “Ball and chain, remember?” 

Steve didn’t know how he could forget.

“This is gonna be a nightmare when I get back into the office,” he said. “What am I going to tell people?”

“That you had to break my heart,” Bucky said. Steve reached out and took his hand in both of his, running his fingers over his skin. “That you broke it off, wanted a fresh start. You can tell everyone I cried, if you really want to.”

“Thanks,” Steve said. “Maybe this has all been a whole lot of trouble for nothing.”

“You really think so?”

“Well, no. This was fun. And you’ve been really kind to me, Buck.” Steve sighed. “I want to stay friends after this.”

“You’re breaking up with me?”

“I think so, buddy.”

Bucky grimaced. “ _Buddy_. That wounds me.”

Steve looked down at Bucky’s hand in his. “Thanks. For tonight.”

“That’s what Natalia paid me for.”

Steve almost broke his neck looking at him. “She paid you?”

“Kidding. She didn’t even offer.”

Steve elbowed him. “Jerk.”

“Punk.” Buck was smiling again. His pale eyes shone in the chandeliers and fairy lights. “I told you, good food, a formal outing with my old friends, and a cute date—its payment enough.”

“Aw,” Steve said, sarcastic. “You think I’m cute.”

“For what Natalia warned was a ‘regular city goblin’, yes.”

“What regular city goblin do you know who owns a suit as nice as this?” Steve asked, looking down at himself.

“Only the one,” Bucky said.

They went for one final dance, which turned into two, and then three, as the room began to thin out. It had been snowing all night, apparently, and no one wanted to risk getting stuck, even with a free bar. They’d already said goodbye to the interns, to Wanda and Pietro, to Janice from marketing, and to a whole host of others.

At half one, they bumped into Clint and Nat, who were laughing with one of the bartenders—turned out to be a friend of a friend of a friend of Clint’s from way back when—and suggested they call a taxi. Clint and Bucky went to their table to make sure they had all their things, and Nat looped her arm through Steve’s and smiled at him.

“Had fun?” he asked.

“Yeah,” she said. “Have you?”

He knew she had been more worried about Brock’s presence than she’d let on, so he squeezed her arm and said, "Yes. I have, Nat. It’s been fun.”

Brock had kept his distance, after all. Steve hadn’t been the only one expecting to have to deal with him approaching and trying to speak to him.

“You and James seem friendly,” she said, wiggling her eyebrows.

“You and Clint have been embarrassing all night,” Steve retorted, and she shot him a look.

“ _Steve_ ,” she hissed, eyes wide. She was still a little tipsy, but Natasha Romanoff never lost her sense, no matter how much she drank. “You were holding hands. Don’t tell me there’s nothing going on.”

“There’s nothing going on.”

“Well, I give you my blessing,” she said, and then Bucky and Clint were back with bags and things, and they were waving to the stragglers they knew and ducking back into the foyer, which was empty.

Clint went to get Nat’s coat and his, while Steve got caught up talking to one of the people from admin with Bucky beside him, and once he was free, Clint said he was going to hail a taxi with Nat.

“I’ll get our coats,” Bucky said, fishing the little numbered counters out of his pocket. “I’ll be right back.”

So Nat and Clint disappeared down the steps, and Steve stood and gazed out through the huge windows as the snow drifted down. He must have only been alone for ten seconds before he heard footsteps. He turned, thinking it was Bucky, and then his stomach churned.

Brock. Advancing across the foyer from the banquet hall. Date nowhere to be seen. Steve looked to the little door Bucky had vanished through. When he looked back, Brock was grinning, in that horrible way that showed all his teeth and had always put Steve on edge.

“Finally able to catch you,” he said, coming to a stop. He looked drunk. He looked mean. Steve lifted his chin, trying to ignore how his heart was pounding. _I’m angry at Brock_ , he thought to himself. _I have every right to be_.

“Hi, Brock,” he said. His voice didn’t wobble.

“It’s been a while. I'm glad I caught your speech."

Steve nodded. “Right.”

“I wanted to talk to you,” Brock said. “If I had known you were going to be here I would’ve found you earlier. We’ve got stuff to talk about, I think. You never answered my calls.”

Steve looked away. Where was Bucky? Or Nat to tell him where the taxi was? He looked back at Brock. As if he hadn't known Steve would be here.

“I have nothing to say to you, Brock,” he said. “Except that you knew I’d be here and that I didn’t answer your calls for a reason. Now if you don’t mind—”

“There’s no need to be so dismissive, Steve,” Brock interrupted. He took another step forward. “I’m only trying to talk to you. That’s always been your problem. Never letting people finish what they started."

“My friends at waiting for me,” Steve said. He made to turn. He’d gladly wait in the snow. “Goodbye, Brock. Don’t contact me again.”

“I saw you hanging around with that Russian chick. She still talking shit about me?”

Steve stopped. “I guess so. They’re my friends.”

Brock’s upper lip curled. “Well, I don’t see any of them now. Or that guy you were dancing with. I'm here. Not them.”

“I—”

“Who the fuck is that guy, anyway? A rebound? Should’a guessed you were still a little bitch.”

“Brock, I’m leaving. Don’t try and talk to me again,” Steve said, turning, because as soon as he was outside he’d text Bucky where he was, but there was a hand on his arm and it made him flinch away, but Brock’s grip was tight, like always, repulsive.

“I don’t understand what I’ve done to make you treat me like this,” Brock snapped. “What the fuck is your problem, Rogers?”

Steve pulled away. He was the same height as Brock, strong like him, but Brock fought dirty. He was cruel. He’d ask Steve why he was such a coward when he looked the way he did, reminded him that no one would believe him if he said he was being bullied by his boyfriend. A gross understatement of what Brock had been doing.

But Steve knew, now. Or what he’d always known but had ignored because it seemed impossible had been proven to him. It didn’t matter who he was. Brock had been the worst thing to ever happen to him, and he deserved better.

Steve grit his teeth. “Don’t talk to me like I’m stupid, Brock. In fact, don’t ever talk to me again. I don’t even want to see your face.”

“What the—” Brock began, but a louder voice interrupted.

“Is everything alright here?” Steve looked over, relief flooding through him at the sight of Bucky walking towards them, coats slung over his arm.

“It’s fine, dude, just a disagreement with my friend here,” Brock said, stepping back a pace, and then he realised who Bucky was and his eyes flashed.

Bucky handed Steve his coat. He had a tightness in his jaw Steve hadn’t seen before, a look that meant he was sizing Brock up, matching the man to what little he’d been told about him.

“We aren’t friends, Brock,” Steve said.

“Ah, so you’re Brock,” Bucky echoed, as if he had been waiting to meet the asshole his boyfriend had told him about. His voice was flat, dangerous. He said _Brock_ like he was referring to vermin. He made a sound of dismissal and then looked over at Steve. A silent question. _Are you okay_? Steve took his coat and nodded, yanking it on.

Bucky looked at Brock. Brock took another step back. Steve put his hand on Bucky’s arm. Not that he thought he’d try and fight the other man or something, but he just wanted to go. This wasn’t Bucky’s fight, after all.

“Buck,” he murmured.

“I’d like you to leave my boyfriend alone,” Bucky said, voice leaving no room for question or bargaining. “Listen to what he says or you’ll have me to go through.”

He turned to Steve, putting a careful hand on the small of his back and guiding him away, towards the door.

“What was _that_?” Steve asked as soon as they were outside.

“Sorry. You honestly looked like you were handling it,” Bucky said. He seemed embarrassed by his actions. “I just–I saw him grab you."

Steve blinked at him. He felt calm. It hadn’t been much, but he’d stood up for himself. As glad as he was that Bucky had appeared right then, he was proud of himself for telling Brock to leave him alone. And amazed at how ferociously Bucky had defended him.

“Did he hurt you?” Bucky asked, and Steve shook his head. “You’re okay?”

“Yeah. I’m okay. Honestly. Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For your good timing.”

There was the sound of a car horn. They looked over. A taxi, Nat waving at them.

“Come on!” she shouted.

“Don’t tell her,” Steve said hurriedly. Bucky’s brows knitted together. “I’ll tell her later. Just not now. I don’t want her or Clint worrying about it.”

Bucky nodded. They reached the taxi. Nat had to sit in the middle as the smallest but Steve didn’t mind that he couldn’t sit next to Bucky. Clint sat in the front because he felt a little queasy. There was a fair bit of traffic because of the snow but the lights were glittering and the streets were turning white and Steve didn’t mind any of it.

Nat and Clint were dropped off first. Clint gave them awkward handshakes from the front seat before he got out, extending his season’s greetings and promising they’d meet up in a few days for brunch. Nat hugged them both and repeated how happy she was that they’d finally been able to meet. Then they handed Steve their share of the fare and waved from the stoop of the apartment building.

Steve looked across at Bucky. Smiled at him.

“Where’re you staying?” he asked. Bucky rattled off the address. Steve frowned. That was another thirty minutes away in this weather.

“Stay at my place,” he said before he could chicken out, and Bucky nodded.

“Okay,” he said. “Thanks.”

The next ten minutes were quiet. Steve stared out of the window and tried to remember the state he’d left his apartment in before leaving. And then they were there, they paid the driver, hopped out and crunched up the snow-covered steps. Steve let them in and they ascended the stairwell. Finally, they were inside, shedding coats and boots, hanging suit jackets up and removing all constricting ties and unbuttoning.

Steve put the kettle on and went to find something comfy to change into, coming back with a pair of sweatpants and an old, soft shirt. “Here,” he said. “Unless you wanna sleep in that monkey suit.”

“You like this monkey suit,” Bucky quipped as he walked to the bathroom.

Steve had hot, sweet drinks waiting when Bucky came back. He almost blurted out _fuck_ when he saw him. Hair down, clad in Steve’s clothes. More of those tattoos on display in that short-sleeve. His ass somehow looked even better in baggy pants, and his broad chest and shoulders stretched at Steve’s shirt.

They sat on the couch and put the TV on in the background. Outside, the snow fell faster. They talked about random things. Bucky asked about his apartment. Steve asked about his plans now he was back in the city. He felt very sober and clear-headed but his direction of thought didn’t change. He just sat there, coming to terms with the fact that Bucky was now sat inches from him, on his couch, after being a literal angel all evening, after seeing Steve’s ugly side.

And part of those realisations came the revelation that he liked Bucky. A lot. And he didn’t just wanna be friends. And he didn’t just want to be fake boyfriends. But it was gone two a.m., and that day was over. Now they were back to square one, meant to be new friends, instead.

When they were both yawning, Steve pointed to the coffee table that doubled up as a storage bin and Bucky opened it to pull out some blankets and pillows for the couch. Steve collected their mugs and went to the kitchen to rinse them out for washing in the morning. He tried to ignore how relaxed he felt, how safe. How happy he was to turn his back on Bucky, to have him just there, in his apartment.

_The day was over. Back to square one._

He took a deep breath. Told himself to get over it.

“Alright,” he said, and he turned, and he jumped, because Bucky was right behind him, crowding him in a little against the counter. “Oh,” Steve said. And then Bucky put his hands on his waist and kissed him.

It was sweet, gentle. Their first actual kiss, despite the events of the night. Steve leaned into it, one hand on Bucky’s stomach, twisting in his shirt, the other threading through the hairs at the back of his head.

Bucky pulled back. They panted in silence for a few seconds. Bucky smiled faintly. He stepped away, giving Steve space.

“Goodnight, Steve,” he said. Steve blinked at him.

“Goodnight, Bucky.”

He turned and walked to his room, shutting the door. He sat on the edge of his bed for a good minute, listening to the silence of the apartment, staring blankly at the snow he could see falling past his bedroom window, and vividly recalling the tingling sensation he’d felt with Bucky’s lips on his, with his hands on him. It was just amplifying what he’d felt all evening.

He stood up.

“Fuck,” he said to himself. He went to the door and wrenched it open and—“Shit!” he said. Bucky dropped his hand. He was about to knock.

Steve laughed. “Come here,” he said, and he saw Bucky grinning, and then he was grabbing him by the front of his shirt and kissing him like he wanted to, hauling him into his bedroom and shutting the door tight behind them. Screw just one day.

**Author's Note:**

> saturnblushes on tumblr and pinterest


End file.
